


let me see you stripped

by myrmidryad



Series: show me something new [7]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Developing Relationship, Dominant Grantaire, Emotional Sex, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Submissive Enjolras, rejected offers of intimacy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-17
Updated: 2015-01-17
Packaged: 2018-03-07 22:34:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3185741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myrmidryad/pseuds/myrmidryad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Is something wrong?” Enjolras asks, following as Grantaire goes to lean against the back of the sofa, looking down at his hands.</p><p>“I wanted to ask you a few things,” Grantaire says, line rehearsed all afternoon. He hopes he doesn’t mess anything up at a crucial moment.</p><p> </p><p>Grantaire finally works up the courage to talk to Enjolras about what he wants. Secret relationships are only fun for so long.</p>
            </blockquote>





	let me see you stripped

**Author's Note:**

> Title from [Stripped](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qNT2ZCk1NZI) by Shiny Toy Guns. 
> 
> Let's handle some relationship redefining and tricky emotions!

It’s getting better, little by little, but if they’re no longer dancing in circles, they’re still going in spirals. Grantaire’s trying to be patient, but for every step he tries to take forward, Enjolras digs his heels in and pulls back. It’s not even about Enjolras’ hang-ups concerning the sex, though those have proven more of an issue than Grantaire had expected. It’s the secrecy. Worse, it’s the way Enjolras doesn’t even acknowledge that they’re keeping their relationship (if it can be called that) a secret.

He sets the pace, Grantaire just follows along. Every time.

He considers challenging Enjolras over it a couple of times, once when he has Enjolras pinned to the bed, gasping as Grantaire bends him back on himself and spreads his legs wide. “Like a circus performer,” he grins. “An acrobat.” Enjolras’ breaths come in high-pitched pants and moans as Grantaire holds his legs apart and imagines aloud whether he could tie them like that, making Enjolras forget any discomfort by trying rimming again, this time without anything in the way.

Like this, he could ask Enjolras anything. Right here, exposed, Enjolras is honest in a way he usually isn’t with Grantaire. The questions are on the tip of Grantaire’s tongue, but the desperate bliss in Enjolras’ expression stops him saying anything. It would be taking advantage. But any other time he thinks of approaching the issue, Enjolras is in control. And Enjolras in control means Enjolras with a bite. Like he still has something to prove where Grantaire is concerned.

They started like that. After a meeting when Grantaire saw Enjolras walk past the bus stop where he was waiting and wolf-whistled to get his attention. Baiting him, too drunk to care, making lewd comments that Enjolras had turned back on him, scorn and a sneer daring Grantaire to make good on his word. Hatesex is probably the word for it, and it had been glorious.

This is better. Grantaire gets to hold Enjolras afterwards most of the time, helping him pull himself back together and sleep off the strain. It’s more honest. He’s not sure if Enjolras ever gave him a kind smile before, but it happens now. Only when no one else can see, but it happens. He’s more familiar, looking over to catch Grantaire’s eye occasionally, challenging him to speak, to disagree, or sometimes just to flirt.

They have that connection now. But Enjolras still doesn’t want anyone else to know, and it rubs. He’s still so guarded and prickly. Grantaire wants to ask him if he’d insist on privacy if Grantaire was someone else. If he was one of their other friends, or a stranger. The bitterness and hurt is a familiar ache now, where before it had stung. He hates that it’s something he’s grown accustomed to. But patience comes easily when he reminds himself of the differences between them. Enjolras has good reason for wanting to keep them secret.

Grantaire, after all, is hardly a match for someone like Enjolras.

 

Enjolras grimaces as they step into his shower, looking down as he washes himself clean. Grantaire shivers, the edge of the spray catching him as it ricochets off Enjolras’ shoulders and back. He reaches for the shampoo before Enjolras can and asks while his courage is still up, “Let me?”

“What?” Enjolras is still fuzzy, the marks from the gags dark red around his mouth. Grantaire had pulled on it while fucking him from behind, the leather digging into Enjolras’ cheeks and making him whine.

“Your hair.” Grantaire squeezes out some shampoo and lifts his hands to Enjolras’ head before he can object. Enjolras blinks, his shoulders relaxing for a moment before he frowns and leans away.

“I can do it.” He turns his back to Grantaire to finish the job, and Grantaire lets the shampoo wash off his hands and down the drain, the euphoria from the bedroom swirling away with it.

 

After their next meeting breaks up, Grantaire checks to make sure no one’s looking before following Enjolras out, jogging to catch up. When Enjolras turns and sees him, he pauses just long enough for Grantaire to draw level before shaking his head. “I’m too busy tonight, Grantaire.”

Disappointing, but not unexpected. Grantaire shrugs. “I could help. I know a good pasta dish.”

“What?” Enjolras frowns at him and shakes his head. “I have food, I don’t need your help.”

Grantaire clasps a hand to his heart, making his expression wry as he says, “God forbid you be anything but perfect. It was just an offer, Enjolras. It doesn’t have to be anything more than a meal.” Enjolras’ expression wavers for a moment, and Grantaire presses. “I can do this for you, honestly.” A mistake, it seems, because Enjolras shakes his head.

“I’ll be fine, thank you. I’ll see you,” he adds, a little awkwardly. His mask is back on in a second, and Grantaire stays where he is as Enjolras walks on, hurrying home to whatever he’s got planned for dinner. Probably something utterly ridiculous like a box of muffins or a packet of biscuits. Grantaire can relate to being unable to cook for whatever reason, but he never feels properly full unless he’s eaten cooked food. He’d like to share a meal with Enjolras, but if Enjolras doesn’t want that, he can’t force it. He sighs and turns around, heading home alone.

 

Enjolras calls him two days later while he’s at work. When his shift ends at six, Grantaire calls back, expecting the invite when it’s given, teasing because that’s what he does when this happens. “Couldn’t bear to keep me away?”

“Are you free or not?” Enjolras asks, flat.

“Well I wouldn’t want to deprive you of my company.”

“I’d hardly call it deprivation.”

“But if my company is so terrible, why invite me over?” Grantaire steps out into a light drizzle and wrinkles his nose, pulling his hood up and hunching as he starts to walk to the métro.

“Well I’m hardly asking because I fancy a debate.” Enjolras huffs. “I have plenty of other things to get on with, you know.”

“Sure you do.” Grantaire can’t help smirking. “Tell you what, I’ll be there in about…mm, twenty minutes to half an hour. Why don’t you plug yourself for me so we can get straight to it, if you’re that uninterested in anything else I can offer?”

“I…you…” Enjolras audibly swallows. “You’d better not be in public right now.”

“Oh don’t worry, no one’s listening. I can speak louder if you want though.”

“Christ, just get here already.” Enjolras hangs up, and Grantaire laughs as he slides his phone into his pocket, imagining how hard he must be blushing. And he’d be willing to put money on Enjolras obeying his suggestion. Thinking of it, Enjolras kneeling on his bed and fingering himself, preparing himself before pushing the plug in makes Grantaire shiver, and he quickens his pace.

Sure enough, Enjolras answers the door only in his boxers, cheeks pink. Grantaire kicks the door closed behind him and crowds Enjolras against the wall, distracting him with a kiss while he slides a hand round to his ass. Enjolras squeaks when he finds the flared edges of the plug, and Grantaire laughs into his mouth as he presses it. “I knew you’d do it.”

“It’s faster this way,” Enjolras snipes, wriggling away and jerking his head towards the bedroom. “Are you coming or not?”

Would Enjolras object if Grantaire pulled him down onto the carpet here, right in front of the door? Would he let Grantaire fuck him facing it, whimper as Grantaire whispered about imaginary people on the other side?

Grantaire follows him into the bedroom as if led on a leash, catching the way Enjolras is half walking on his tiptoes, clearly unused to moving much with a plug in him. Grantaire grabs him before he can get to the bed and wraps his arms around him, pressing his face between Enjolras’ shoulder blades and breathing in.

“What’re you doing?” Enjolras mutters.

“Admiring.” He sinks his teeth into Enjolras’ shoulder, and Enjolras’ head droops, like he’s accepting it. The curve of his neck is too beautiful to ignore, and Grantaire goes up on tiptoe to bite and kiss that as well.

They don’t make it to the bed. Grantaire pins Enjolras to the wall instead, his calves aching as he stays on his toes to fuck Enjolras hard, their bodies thudding against the wall loud enough to make Enjolras curse him, breathless and needy. Grantaire reminds him of how much he wanted it, how he plugged himself just so that Grantaire could come over and do this. He teases and taunts, loving the way it makes Enjolras whine and screw his eyes shut, the flush on his cheeks and chest going from pink to red. He leaves bruises and bite marks scattered across the back of Enjolras’ shoulders, scratches his hips and twists his arms, pushing them out until Enjolras is trembling, stretched and exposed in every way.

Being allowed to do this is electrifying. Taking control of something so intimate, being the one to lead rather than follow, and with _Enjolras_ – it drives him wild, makes him desperate. He wants to push Enjolras to breaking point and devour the sights and sounds and the sensation of their overheated bodies pressed so close. Enjolras keeps his eyes closed or averted, and though Grantaire’s are wide open, he wouldn’t notice if the bed caught fire right now. He’s consumed and consuming, everything in him focused and concentrated on this moment, this place, on Enjolras, completely on Enjolras. There is no one else in the world. It’s ecstatic, holy.

Enjolras cries out, a broken noise half-muffled against the wall (it’s a good thing this wall faces outside, or they’d be getting complaints), and Grantaire growls, thrusting hard enough to hurt. He tilts his head to bite Enjolras’ earlobe and whispers, “Close? Just from rutting against a wall, Enjolras? Is that all it takes for you? Any hard surface and a dick up your ass –”

Enjolras shudders, tensing as he comes, and Grantaire trails off into a groan. “Fuck, you feel amazing,” he manages to gasp as Enjolras stops straining against him, letting Grantaire hold him up. He slows his thrusts, hiding his face against Enjolras’ shoulder and biting back moans. Enjolras lets out a long sigh, slumping down a little, then jerks and gasps. His prostate, Grantaire assumes distantly, and he shifts to try and hit it again, and again. Enjolras cries out softly each time, and on the fourth Grantaire comes.

He has to peel himself from Enjolras’ back, both of them panting and sweaty. He keeps a palm on Enjolras’ side, slides it to the small of his back and down to his entrance, making Enjolras shiver. “What a mess we’ve made,” Grantaire murmurs, and Enjolras seems to come back to himself a little, moving away from him to get tissues. Once he has them though, he looks to Grantaire.

They’re both heavy, slow, but Grantaire takes the box from Enjolras’ hand and turns him to face the wall again, giving him something to lean on as he does the cleaning up for both of them. They don’t speak, and Grantaire enjoys the fuzziness of the quiet, the sweetness of it. He dips his fingers into Enjolras carefully, wipes away the evidence of what they’ve done. He smooths a palm from shoulder to hip, fingers gentle on the marks he’s made. There are scratches there, red blotches that will bruise in the next few hours, go green and yellow over the next week.

It feels good to do this, to be gentle after being rough. Like he’s proving to both of them that he’s not all bad, that he can take care of Enjolras as well as break him down. If Grantaire didn’t know that he would be rejected, he’d devote himself to it with the same intensity as he’d fucked Enjolras a few minutes earlier. All he wants right now is to cuddle Enjolras for the rest of the evening, but there’s no way Enjolras would let him.

Even after pushing Enjolras into reading about aftercare, Enjolras hasn’t turned to him the way he did after Grantaire tied him up that first time. He withdraws into himself instead, and Grantaire aches to offer what little he can provide, but Enjolras spurns every attempt he makes to be comforting or affectionate.

Grantaire turns his attention to the line of hickeys along Enjolras’ shoulders, some so dark they’re almost purple. He presses his lips to the worst and loops an arm round Enjolras’ waist, holding him in a loose hug. For a moment they’re unmoving, the world around them still soft. Then Enjolras turns his head and breaks away. Goosebumps break out along Grantaire’s arms at the sudden loss of warmth, his chest feeling oddly empty as Enjolras walks to the other side of the bed to get his boxers.

Avoiding his gaze, Grantaire realises as Enjolras keeps his eyes downcast. “Hey,” he says, quiet as he grabs a t-shirt and tracksuit bottoms from the floor, obviously discarded from when Enjolras had been preparing himself earlier.

Enjolras looks up but doesn’t speak as Grantaire approaches, dumping the bottoms on the bed and rolling the t-shirt up, a fragile idea in his head. It shatters as Enjolras frowns and jerks his head, seeing that Grantaire is holding the shirt ready for him to slide his arms into it. He snatches it from Grantaire’s hands, cheeks red. “I am actually capable of dressing myself,” he says acidly. The empty feeling in Grantaire’s chest expands and begins to ache.

 _Just checking I hadn’t rendered you completely boneless_ – the sarcastic response leaps to his tongue, but he bites it still and forces himself to back off. He can be kind without being cutting, if he wants to, and he wants Enjolras to know that. But it’s one thing to make such a resolution, and quite another to carry it out in the face of such stinging rejection.

He keeps his tongue behind his teeth despite that, and pretends to turn his attention to dressing himself. Enjolras gets his leg stuck as he yanks on his tracksuit bottoms, and when Grantaire catches his eye he scowls like he’s on the edge of tears before glaring down at his feet and untangling himself. He stalks past Grantaire to grab a sweatshirt and then goes into the living room. Grantaire finishes dressing, sighs, and follows.

“Would you like some tea?” he asks, looking over at Enjolras curled on the sofa.

“No. Thank you,” Enjolras adds as a sulky sort of afterthought.

Grantaire pads over in his socks and flops down next to him. Enjolras stares at his laptop, open on the coffee table to a news article on something Grantaire doesn’t care about. When Enjolras remains still, Grantaire rests a cautious arm on the back of the sofa and slides his hand into Enjolras’ hair. Enjolras’ lips part, his head turning just a little, and for a moment he accept the caress before his expression turns accusatory. “What are you doing?”

Grantaire pauses, the ache in his chest sharpening. Half a dozen responses varying in tone from tender to curt jump to mind, and it takes him a moment to reply, very aware of how soft Enjolras’ hair is under his palm. “What do you think I’m doing?”

Wrong reply, apparently. Enjolras jerks his head away and reaches for his laptop, crossing his legs to keep Grantaire at a distance. “I don’t care.”

Grantaire looks down at his lap, feeling very much like he’s been slapped. Just a month ago he would have tried to recover this situation somehow. By washing the buttplug and tossing it into Enjolras’ lap, perhaps, or laughing and reminding him of how much he’d enjoyed Grantaire’s hands a few minutes ago. But he can’t muster up the energy for their games now. He’s tired of it.

He gets up and leaves, closing the door quietly on his way out. Is it just sex then? Is he just Enjolras’ easiest option? He jumps to attention every time, he thinks bitterly as he goes down the stairs. He follows wherever Enjolras leads. He gives everything, offers more, keeps his mouth shut and their secrets unspoken. Does Enjolras even like him at all?

It’s still raining outside, and Grantaire pulls his hood up and walks, cold water seeping through his shoes and socks. Knowing that he can’t even pretend to himself that he’ll try to avoid Enjolras or resist in any way just makes it that much worse.

 

Anime night at Joly, Bossuet, and Musichetta’s apartment happens once a month. On that chosen evening, Bossuet and Musichetta educate Joly and Grantaire with either movie or TV show marathons, and tonight they’ve chosen a bleak program called Wolf’s Rain. Grantaire’s attention drifts and turns to studying his friends. Musichetta sits on the floor between Joly’s knees, smiling as he braids her hair, and Bossuet leans against Grantaire and bats excitedly at Joly’s arm whenever an exciting or emotional bit comes up. Which, this being anime, seems to happen at least once a minute.

They’re so happy together, his friends. They joke and poke fun and laugh at each other, easy with their touches, open with their opinions and feelings. They can pretend to be outraged with each other, secure in the solidity of their relationship. They can tease without their words being loaded, offer a hug without worrying about rejection. He’d kill to have even half of that with Enjolras.

He can’t help grinning as he leaves, seeing the way they’re all flirting with each other, catching the moments where they touch, conspiring and giggling. His smile lasts him all the way back to his own bed, their kindness keeping him warm. By morning, it’s become determination. By lunchtime, it’s faded to a sort of sick dread. He texts Enjolras anyway to ask if he can come over tonight. He doesn’t say what for.

It feels inevitable. Perhaps it always was. But it’s clear he can’t go on like this, unsure and trapped. If he and Enjolras had started this the year before…maybe even six months before, things would be different. He’d truly be hopeless then, totally under Enjolras’ spell, sick with longing and desire the way he used to be. It’s only now that he’s seeing the difference in himself.

He makes a note on his phone to pick up some sort of angry-looking potted plant for Jehan. Turns out that moving in with them was the healthiest decision Grantaire has ever made. Next time he sees them he’s going to hug them for at least a minute straight. It’s funny, the difference it makes to know that someone will notice if he doesn’t leave bed all day. Knowing that Jehan will come and cuddle if he needs them to, that they will do things like bring them a hot drink or a couple of slices of toast if they know Grantaire hasn’t eaten, has changed everything.

It happened so slowly he hasn’t even noticed till now. It’s kind of mind blowing.

Enjolras greets him with bright eyes and the hint of a smile which dies when Grantaire slips past him without what’s become his customary greeting kiss. “Is something wrong?” Enjolras asks, following as Grantaire goes to lean against the back of the sofa, looking down at his hands.

“I wanted to ask you a few things,” Grantaire says, line rehearsed all afternoon. He hopes he doesn’t mess anything up at a crucial moment.

“Okay.” Enjolras sounds uncertain, and Grantaire sees him lean against the wall a few steps away. “Shoot.”

“It’s more asking you to clear a few things up,” Grantaire decides to rephrase, already deviating. “Like before, when I said there were some things I wanted to sort out, but we just ended up with a list.”

“That was your idea.”

“I know.” Grantaire frowns. “Sorry.” Wonderful, he’s already apologising. He hates this part of himself, the part that apologises over and over even though he knows how pointless and annoying it sounds. He pulls a face and forges on, glancing up to meet Enjolras’ eyes for a brief moment. “Not for the list, ignore that. I just meant…” Back to the lines he’s already decided on, back to the script. “I’m confused. About us, what we’re doing.”

Enjolras purses his lips. “What do you mean?”

“I mean…” Grantaire sighs and sits back, pushing a hand through his hair. “I mean I don’t know what you want. We have these moments where I think we’re on the same page, but then the next time I see you, it’s like you pretend nothing happened. And that’s fine, we can…this can just be sex, if that’s what you want.” The words hurt, unwilling as he is to say them, and he has to concentrate to make sure his voice doesn’t waver. “But you need to tell me.”

“This is about the date,” Enjolras concludes, and frowns when Grantaire shakes his head.

“It’s more than that. But yeah, that, it’s…I told you then, I said I wanted more than this, so you know…and I told you how I feel after I brought the rope over that first time, and you didn’t say anything, which is fine, like I said, it’s okay if you don’t, I just don’t know what you –” He pauses, takes a breath to stop himself trailing into babble. “I don’t want to tiptoe around you the way I have been,” he says finally, looking down at his hands again. “You keep pushing me away, but like, after you’ve let me help, so I don’t know what you want. And the date…you let me take you out, as long as no one could see us, and you kept the flowers, as long as no one knew who they were from.” He frowns, trying not to sound too bitter. “If I’m your dirty little secret, at least tell me so I know where I stand.”

He looks at Enjolras and knows immediately that he’s said too much, shown too much of his feelings. “More than sex,” Enjolras says quietly. “That’s how you put it.”

Grantaire’s fingers twist, unexpected frustration welling up. “I’ve been perfectly clear this whole time,” he says tightly. “I’ve done everything you wanted, and you know how I feel. You know I don’t want to be something you just use whenever you like, and you must know I’ll be that anyway if that’s what you want. Just…tell me if that’s all this is.”

“It’s difficult,” Enjolras mutters, and Grantaire glares at him, something splintering in his chest.

“Like it’s easy for me? I’ve been in love with you for years, you don’t think I’m having a few problems with this?” Grantaire rubs the back of his neck and sighs. When he looks at Enjolras, he’s biting his lip, the unhappy frown that’s become so familiar back on his face. He looks lost, Grantaire realises, and his anger fades. “I’m in love with you,” he says again, the words new and strange now they’re being addressed to Enjolras himself. “I’d take anything you’re willing to give, no matter how little that is.” He swallows, shrugs. “I’m the greedy, pathetic one out of the two of us, you know? I just don’t…I can’t handle all this ambiguity. I can’t do it unless I know where we stand.”

The silence stretches between them for a painfully long time, and Grantaire starts to sweat. Has he ruined everything? If Enjolras decides to cut him off for his own good, what will he do then? He’ll argue, probably, put up a fight, scrabble to hold onto what little space he’s been given in Enjolras’ life. Even if that space is only in the bedroom, he’ll take it. He’s not proud or smart enough to let go, even if it hurts.

“What if I don’t know either?” Enjolras asks at last, uncharacteristically quiet.

Grantaire’s gaze snaps to him, lips parting in surprise. Enjolras is the one avoiding his eyes now, and Grantaire swallows down a dangerous tide of hope. Not knowing is a far sight better than he’d allowed himself to prepare for. “How about we simplify it?” he says, hardly daring to breathe. “Do you want me to leave? Or do you want me to stay?”

“Forever?” Enjolras’ brow creases, and Grantaire’s heart leaps at the agitation in his voice.

“For now,” he corrects. “But, y’know, with all the complications those options include, if that makes sense.”

“So, leave if I just want sex, stay if I’m open to more?”

Grantaire nods, not daring to speak in case his voice cracks. Enjolras hesitates, chewing hard on his lower lip and picking at his fingernails. Then, so quiet Grantaire almost misses it, “Stay.”

Grantaire can’t raise his voice higher than a whisper. “You’re sure?”

Enjolras nods, still looking scared, but more certain now. “I want you to stay.”

 _Oh thank fuck_ , Grantaire barely manages not to gasp, and to make sure he doesn’t, he crosses the distance between them and kisses Enjolras firmly on the mouth. As soon as Enjolras starts kissing back it becomes gentle, sweeter than their usual kisses, when they kiss at all.

They kissed more, back when they first started fucking, but it was always with a goal in mind. Once they started figuring out what they wanted in bed, it trailed off almost to nothing. Now it’s a rare treat, an intimacy Enjolras hasn’t allowed for a while. Grantaire takes full advantage. He remembers what Enjolras likes, how biting and tugging on his lower lip will make him sigh, how playing with his hair in the right way can make him melt.

Enjolras surprises him, a hand sliding up the side of his neck to cup his jaw, turning Grantaire’s head with a gentle press of fingers and kissing him slower. Grantaire doesn’t think they’ve ever intentionally slowed down on anything before, and it makes something flutter in his stomach, heat catching under his skin. The reality of what they’ve agreed to try sinks in about then, and Grantaire moans and presses forward, feeling Enjolras’ little inhalation as his shoulder blades hit the wall.

They move to the bedroom in small steps, taking the time to kiss until their mouths are swollen, until they can’t keep their hands off each other. Nervous at first, Enjolras is now letting his hands roam, and Grantaire preens under the attention. This change of pace has made him realise how much he usually devotes himself to taking Enjolras apart, how much their attention is usually focused in that direction. But now Enjolras is the one pulling his shirt off first, the one mouthing down his neck like he can’t bring himself to pull away for a second. He figures out that Grantaire becomes putty if his shoulders are squeezed, and Grantaire groans against his neck, hands tangled in the fabric of his shirt.

Enjolras laughs softly, and Grantaire nips at his throat, pushing his hands up Enjolras’ back until his shirt is bundled under his arms and Enjolras has to step back to let him pull it off. They take the opportunity to undress the rest of the way, and when Enjolras falls onto the bed with Grantaire on top of him he shivers, holding on too tight. When Grantaire tilts his head in askance, his cheeks go pink and he gets an edge of that worried look again. “I’m sorry.”

“Do you want to stop?” Grantaire asks, stilling.

“No!” Enjolras leans up, kissing Grantaire’s shoulder and hiding his face, though he can’t hide how ashamed he sounds. “The opposite. I want it too much.”

Grantaire almost laughs. He kisses Enjolras instead, coaxing him loose again, settling against him until he’s relaxed. “You don’t think I want this too?” Grantaire murmurs, rolling his hips. Enjolras arches up in reply, and Grantaire bites at his neck, pulling his hair. “You don’t think I need you? This isn’t one-way, Enjolras. I love you.” No one ever told him saying it could be so addictive, and he moans as Enjolras holds him tight, sucking a bruise onto his neck. “I love you,” he breathes again, just because he can. “I’m done with pretending I don’t.”

Enjolras draws back enough to kiss him, so hard Grantaire’s head spins from it. He gasps when they part, and sees how wild and hungry Enjolras’ eyes are. The look in them has him pushing himself up on one arm and reaching for the bedside table, yanking the drawer open. He has to sit up to reach in and get the lube, and Enjolras sits up as well to keep as much of them touching as possible. Grantaire kisses him again before swinging himself off and directing Enjolras to kneel facing him. They keep kissing as Grantaire gets his fingers too wet, making a mess, and pushes two into Enjolras immediately.

Enjolras tenses, chest hitching, then lets out a half-choked breath and loops an arm over Grantaire’s shoulders, holding himself up as Grantaire thrusts in and out slowly, taking his time. Enjolras’ free hand fumbles between them, and then wraps around their cocks, matching Grantaire’s pace. Grantaire presses hot kisses to his neck, grinning whenever he makes Enjolras’ hand falter by curling his fingers or biting.

“Grantaire…” Enjolras gasps.

“I _want_ to give you this.” Grantaire lets go of him and moves round to kneel behind him, taking Enjolras’ arms and crossing them over his chest, holding them in place. It makes Enjolras let out a long, shaking breath, pushing his ass back insistently. Grantaire keeps one arm tight over Enjolras’ chest and arms, and guides them together with his free hand, their bodies flush from thigh to neck. Enjolras starts rocking back immediately, and Grantaire lets him adjust, waits until he finds the right angle and starts to moan. Then he reaches round to jerk Enjolras off at the same time, holding him up, keeping him exactly where he wants him. “I want to give you this,” he says again, breathes against Enjolras’ neck. “I want to give you everything.”

Enjolras moans, trailing off into a cry as Grantaire tightens his grip, holding them closer together. This is going to be over fast – this angle is too good to draw it out, and the feeling of holding Enjolras like this is amazing. He could break away in a second if he wanted to, but he surrenders instead, leans back into it, tilts his head to offer Grantaire more skin to mark. “I want,” Enjolras manages to say, sounding wrecked. “I want everything, I want it, fuck, Grantaire, I’m so fucked up, I want you to do all these things…” He gasps, throat working as Grantaire squeezes his dick, thrusting as hard as he can. “If people knew –”

“God, shut up.” Grantaire bites his shoulder hard enough to make Enjolras cry out. “Stop freaking out about what people would think.” He relaxes his grip on Enjolras’ cock so he’s just thrusting into a loose fist, far from the stimulation he needs. It has the desired effect – Enjolras makes a high, needy noise and snaps his hips harder, seeking more friction.

“It’s no one else’s business,” Grantaire continues, digging the nails of his other hand into Enjolras’ side, only the smallest of gaps appearing between them with each thrust now. “It’s none of their business what we do, who tops or bottoms, whether there’re whips or chains or gags involved.” He tightens his hand around Enjolras’ cock for a moment and Enjolras makes a desperate, frustrated sound when he loosens it again almost immediately.

“ _Grantaire!_ ”

“It’s just you and me.” Grantaire tightens again, a brief tease to push Enjolras closer to the edge. “It’s no one else’s concern what we do in bed. You don’t need to be anything different for me, I love you as you are.” Enjolras whimpers, and Grantaire squeezes his eyes shut and starts jerking him off again, already so close to coming himself. “You can let this be easy,” he pleads. “I love you whether you’re leading a crowd or letting me tie you up. You’re brilliant no matter what.” His hips jerk as he comes, his moan muffled against Enjolras’ shoulder. He barely has the presence of mind to keep his hand moving on Enjolras’ cock till he comes as well, the two of them collapsing sideways afterwards in a panting heap.

They lie in silence till they’ve both got their breath back, and only then does Enjolras peel himself away and roll over to face him, wrinkling his nose when he sees the mess they’ve made on the duvet cover. “This always happens when you come over,” he mutters, and when he starts to smile, Grantaire laughs and leans over to kiss him.

“Shower?”

Enjolras nods, and lets Grantaire take his hand to pull him up. Neither of them let go until they’re under the water, and Enjolras leans into Grantaire and sighs as the cubicle steams up. “I’ve been hurting you. I’m sorry.”

“Will you chuck me out if I offer to wash your hair again?” Grantaire asks, wanting to hold onto the laughter of a minute ago. Sure enough, it gets a small smile out of Enjolras.

“I can wash my own hair, you know.”

“Doesn’t mean I can’t want to do something nice for you.”

“You already do so much.” Enjolras steps away and tilts his head back to get it wet, golden curls flattening under the spray.

“I restrain you,” Grantaire frowns slightly, settling his hands on Enjolras’ hips, admiring his flat stomach and long legs. “I gag you and make fun of you.”

“I like it.” Enjolras ducks his head and presses their foreheads together for a moment, the quiet admission startling. Grantaire figures out why after a second – Enjolras has never said it plainly before. He’s agreed, usually by snapping at Grantaire to shut up or by offering no protest at all, but he’s never actually said it out loud. He seems to realise that too, because he sighs and avoids Grantaire’s eyes as he reaches for the shampoo and steps out of the way so that Grantaire can get in the water while he lathers up his hair. “I don’t like liking it,” he says, barely audible over the noise of the shower. “Most of the time, anyway. I don’t like needing it. I don’t like needing anything.”

“You know there’s nothing wrong with it, right?” Grantaire frowns, slicking his hair back so it doesn’t drip in his eyes. Enjolras sighs.

“I know, it’s just…taking a while. It’s better than it used to be, but it’s still kind of…new. And scary. It freaks me out how much I like it. And I’ve been taking it out on you. It felt like you were patronising me, that you thought I needed babying when I don’t.”

Grantaire lets that sink in as they swap places again, Enjolras handing over the shampoo as they slip past each other. “I want to take care of you afterwards,” Grantaire says after a moment, something new slotting into place for him. “It’s not just about you, it’s about me as well. I do all this stuff to you…” He gestures helplessly. “I hurt you. And I don’t want to _just_ do that. It’s not…I need to try and repair it, if that makes sense. That’s probably a terrible way to put it, but…I don’t know, it’s about balance, I guess. I feel like a horrible person if all I do is be harsh with you. I know you like it, and so do I! I’m not trying to change that at all.” He’s rambling, god damn it, this always happens, why does this always happen? “I love it as much as you, I don’t know if you even knew that, I just don’t want that to be everything we have, because it’s…it’s not, it’s…”

Enjolras stops him, thank fuck, with a hand on his chest. “I get it,” he says, and Grantaire sighs with relief.

“Okay. Sorry, for the babbling.” He smiles ruefully. “You get it though?”

“You’ve been trying to do this for a while, haven’t you?” Enjolras grimaces, apologetic. “And I’ve been pushing you away.”

“Repeatedly,” Grantaire nods. He hesitates, then reaches for the conditioner. “Could I?”

Enjolras puts the pieces together after a second and nods slowly. They exchange places again, and Enjolras turns his back on him so Grantaire can squeeze a blob of conditioner into his hand and work it into Enjolras’ hair. He uses a little too much and takes longer than he needs to, but Enjolras lets him take his time without protest. When they get out and change, they strip the bed and cook dinner together, sharing the duties as equally as they can.

It’s painfully domestic. Enjolras is quiet, subdued, and Grantaire has to resist the urge to fill the silence with inane chatter, fizzy excitement threatening to spill over because Enjolras is trying. Enjolras asked him to stay. “It feels childish,” Enjolras says suddenly, stirring the pasta boiling in the pan. “To let anyone do things for me that I can do myself. It’s lazy.”

“Your expectations of yourself are far too high,” Grantaire snorts, adding more cream to the sauce. “I don’t hold you to them.”

“Whose standards do you hold me to then?” Enjolras asks, glancing sideways at him. Grantaire shrugs.

“By my standards, you and the others are practically superheroes. It’d be insulting to hold you to them when you exceed them just be existing.”

Enjolras frowns. “Your standards are very low.”

“I’m aspirational by nature,” Grantaire quips, and nudges Enjolras’ hip when his expression doesn’t change. “Relax, Enjolras. Easy goals, that’s all I meant. Means I don’t feel like shit when I can’t keep up with other people.”

Enjolras lets the matter lie, thankfully, and they eat in front of the TV, shoulders pressed together as Enjolras grumbles at the news and Grantaire persuades him to watch a nature documentary afterwards. It’s worth it for the way Enjolras grins when any baby animals appear.

In bed, just after they’ve turned the lights off, Enjolras kisses his shoulder and takes a deep breath before asking, “Would you like to go out with me sometime?”

Grantaire doesn’t bother hiding his smile in the dark. “You know I would.”

“Would you like to go to Cosette and Éponine’s next match together?” Enjolras whispers, and Grantaire catches his breath. Cosette and Éponine’s next roller derby match is in a week’s time – he knows this, because everyone they know takes the time off to go and support them. Everyone will be there. All their friends will see.

He swallows and forces himself to ask, “Are you sure?”

Enjolras nods. “Yes. Would you like to go together?”

Grantaire has to kiss him, and laughs helplessly against his lips. “I’d love to.”

**Author's Note:**

> Wolf's Rain is one of my first anime loves.
> 
> I would like you all to take a moment to imagine the _sheer glory_ of Éponine and Cosette playing roller derby. Éponine the blocker, Cosette the jammer, working out some violent frustration on the track, being derby wives...I need to write this fic at some point, basically.
> 
> If you enjoyed this, please consider [buying me a coffee!](https://ko-fi.com/A221HQ9) <3


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